


Don't Mind Me.

by disingenue



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clexa, F/F, Neurodiversity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:27:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24934501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disingenue/pseuds/disingenue
Summary: A collection of miscellaneous moments in this weird modern The 100 AU I've constructed, based on love and acceptance of personal quirks.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Kudos: 20





	1. How'd You Know That?

Clarke was one of the only people that Lexa felt safe to ask all her questions to. A lot of the time, her questions revealed her vulnerabilities, so she strategically kept them to herself. 

There was something that never failed to confound her, and that was when Clarke read an emotion in her that she was trying to conceal. If the blonde found a fault in Lexa’s industriously-built defense system, she had better expect the KGB after her. 

“How’d you know that?” She would interrogate Clarke with burning curiosity, as soon as she thought no-one was listening. 

And Clarke would explain it to the best of her ability, followed up by “and you better not use that intel against me, missy.”

“I won’t,” Lexa would promise her honestly. 

“Was it obvious to others?” She would ask next. And again, Clarke would try her best to answer that. “But I’m no expert,” she would add, a lot of the time. Lexa loved it when she qualified stuff with her credentials.

“I know,” Lexa would agree forgivingly, “but you’re the best one that I have a confidential relationship with.” She was totally right (as she always strove to be).


	2. Fuck.

Lexa chose curse words for expression the way Clarke would choose mediums for her art. Sometimes Clarke would gently call Lexa’s attention to her surroundings, if she wasn’t using language appropriate to them. This would earn her an offended expression. 

“I’m using my words,” Lexa would contend grumpily, “What else do you want?!”

“Shut the fuck up,” She would mouth, head ducked defensively, when the loudspeaker came on at the grocery store. All the more aggressively if it interrupted her or Clarke from a conversation they were having.

“Jesus fuck,” she would mutter under her breath as soon as she was out of earshot of someone that annoyed her. She didn’t really care if they could hear her, she was just lowering her voice “to observe convention”.

“Arthropod son of a fuck,” she would grunt as she smushed a silverfish that had dared invade her domain. They were the only insect she would murder (her own terminology) without remorse.

Clarke figured she absorbed from her rap music, and perhaps also from the company she kept. 

“It also lends a more vernacular quality to my speech,” Lexa observed. “Have you ever heard a robot drop the f-bomb? That is like Asimov’s fourth law of robotics.”


	3. Sunday, 11:30 am

Lexa would wander around the house in her headphones, vacuum or mop in hand, rapping, occasionally to Clarke, occasionally to Titus, who would shadow her curiously. She was at first concerned about disturbing Clarke, but Clarke didn’t mind when she was drawing. She didn’t need quiet; she was pretty much dead to the world when she was in her artwork. Occasionally a bizarre or explicit verse would call her attention away, and she would secretly shoot a bemused, knowing smirk to Lexa (which would go totally unnoticed by the brunette) before descending back into her art. 

Her first impulse, when Lexa did it in front of her, was to watch her. Not judging, merely entertained. Because it was really endearing. But a big rule of engagement with Lexa (as she supposed it was with a lot of strong, silent types) was to not consider her ‘cute’, and if she must do it, because a certain amount of cuteness was ‘normal’ that she do it discreetly. Clarke was down with this. Lexa was a thirty-three year-old woman, after all, and she liked being taken seriously as much as the next person. 

“The men outside of Oliver’s said I was cute last night,” she recalled once, “I told them that I was there to get a pay check, not their approval, and to get fucked. But I did so in a professional way,” she assured Clarke.

It was just kind of their thing that they did on Sunday mornings. They were doing it together, while each being up in their own little worlds, where they enjoyed spending an hour or two on Sunday mornings, doing what made them happy and getting things out of their system.

“You gotta do… what makes you happy,” Lexa quoted to Clarke. She explained to Clarke in detail to do it justice, how the sloth said this in Animal Crossing, with a very sad and serious face. 

“I think about it all the time,” she added philosophically. _Dork._

“You gotta do what makes you happy,” Clarke conceded with a smile of private adoration, that Lexa didn’t notice. She didn’t have to notice everything. That was sort of just how this thing worked.


	4. The Duchenne Smile

_The Duchenne smile._ A genuine smile. You can wikipedia it. Girls Lexa’s age called it a _'smize'_. A portmanteau of “smile with your eyes”. Contraction of the _zygomatic major_ muscles, and the _orbicularis oculi_ muscles, stimulated by electrodes place upon the face of an old man to isolate the muscles involved in a genuine human smile. The discovery of Guillame Duchenne, nineteenth century French neurologist. Lexa had researched it. Practiced it in the mirror. Seen, with satisfaction, the tiny crows feet at the corners of her eyes. Smiles convey sociability in humans, and submission in great apes. Even dogs smile, and humans recognize it because the _zygomatic major_ muscles are utilized.

When she worked a till, Lexa had endless opportunity to prefect it, because she truly and genuinely despised customer service. If it was manipulative to smile to people you wanted to strangle, well, _sorry, not sorry,_ as they would say. She was just doing what her boss told her she had to do in order to get a paycheck and feed herself and Titus.

 _“Hello, Sir, I just wanted to check and see if you needed any help or directions,”_ Lexa told the sunken, scruffy man huddled in the blankets in the stairwell. That was the best use she had yet found for the Duchenne smile.


End file.
